White Ute Dreaming by Scot Gardner Page A

to Chisholm Catholic after that. Poor bastard. The stupid part about it is that we all played with ourselves, just that he was unlucky enough to get caught. I zipped my pants up a bit uncomfortably and put the note in my pocket. Far out.
    Dennis forgot that he needed to go to the toilet. We spent the rest of that period discussing periods. Den argued that Mrs Jenkins wouldn’t question it if a girl took her pencil case to the toilet. She reckoned she would. Jenny Findlay volunteered to try it out.
    â€˜Miss, may I please go to the toilet?’
    â€˜Sit down, Jen.’
    â€˜Nah, I’m serious, Miss. I need to go.’
    â€˜Yes, you may go but leave your pencil case there.’
    â€˜Oh. Okay,’ she said, and put her pencil case down. She grabbed her bag.
    â€˜Jenny. Put your bag down please.’
    â€˜But Miss,’ she whispered so we could all hear. ‘It’s got my tampons in it and I don’t want anyone to see them.’
    Den and the girls groaned. Hendo laughed.
    â€˜Put your bag down Jen, please, and take a seat.’
    â€˜Nah. I have to go,’ she said, and dived into her bag. She pulled out a flowery box and went red. She was laughing and shaking it like a maraca as she walked out the door.
    â€˜See,’ Den said. ‘What if that had smokes in it?’
    Whitney Robertson laughed. ‘It has! Never failed yet!’
    â€˜Oh. Ripped off,’ Den said, and rocked back on his chair.
    â€˜Put your chair down, Dennis,’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘I’ll tell you what, if Jenny comes back and there is anything other than—you know—what’s supposed to be in there, I’ll give her a detention at lunchtime.’
    Jenny came back. Jenny got a detention. Den lit up a smoke in class. Mrs Jenkins went off. Sent him up to see Richo. Way to go, bloke. Man, I love the last day of term.
    I found Angie at recess. I had it all worked out in my head before I saw her. I’d just tell her that I was really sorry but I’ve got a girlfriend and that would be it. I saw her and my intestines tingled. Caroline and the other girl who was with them took off.
    I sat on the bench next to her and we looked in opposite directions for about a minute.
    â€˜I got your note,’ I said. My voice squeaked.
    â€˜Yeah, which one?’
    â€˜The latest one. The “would you kiss me” one.’
    â€˜Oh yeah. That one,’ she said, and looked at me. Her face had drained of blood except for her bright red cheeks. She looked like one of Santa’s helpers. Not from the kids’ book—from the grown-ups’ book. Christmas ’87 edition of Penthouse in Don’s shed.
    â€˜I was going to send it back to you but I wouldn’t have a bloody clue where your locker is so I thought I’d just reply in person.’
    â€˜Yeah. Okay. All right.’
    â€˜What were the questions again?’
    She laughed. ‘I can’t remember.’
    â€˜Oh yeah. Would I kiss you, now that I know who you are?’
    â€˜Oh yeah, that’s right.’
    My knee jiggled. I rested my stump on it but it wouldn’t stop. ‘The answer is . . . yes. Definitely. Absolutely.’
    She put her hand over her mouth for a second then sat up straight, trying to hide her smile.
    â€˜The second question?’
    â€˜I remember that one,’ she said. ‘How?’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s right. I can’t remember the words exactly but I ticked the bottom box.’
    â€˜The bottom box?’
    â€˜Yep,’ I said.
    â€˜Whooo,’ she said, and rested her arm on the back of the seat.
    â€˜You okay?’ I asked. The colour was coming back to her face now. Fast.
    â€˜Yeah, fine,’ she chirped. ‘Very fine.’
    â€˜Very fine?’
    She laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’
    I nodded. I had a sudden urge for a cigarette so I excused myself to go to smokers’ corner. I had taken ten steps and I could hear